


Five Degrees of Separation

by Whreflections



Series: BSB OT5 Verse [2]
Category: Backstreet Boys
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, BDSM, Drug Addiction, Flashbacks, Kevin/AJ Heavy, M/M, POV AJ, Rehabilitation, Therapy, mild breathplay, though there are abundant amounts of AJ/everyone too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:30:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3756235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whreflections/pseuds/Whreflections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the summer of 2001 in the middle of the Black and Blue tour, AJ checks himself into rehab.  Once he's there, he not only has to face his demons, but the question of whether he and Kevin will still have a relationship when he gets out.  For years now it's been the five of them against the world in every way possible, but after the words Kevin left him with from the other side of a locked door, AJ doesn't know what to believe.  </p><p>It's a hard thing to question your faith in love while you're trying to restore your faith in yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I started this thinking "I'll write a little something about AJ being fucked up over potentially losing Kevin while he's in rehab". 10,000 words later I realized there was nothing little about this idea lmao 
> 
> This does take place in a larger universe, but you can read this without having read the other fic I'm working on in this verse, though obviously there are connections. Still, nothing I've posted for this verse as yet needs to be read in chronological order- all you need to know is that the boys are in an established poly relationship and have been for quite some time. 
> 
> At this point in time, there's also some occasional BDSM elements to Kevin and AJ's relationship, but you don't really need to know much about that yet; however, it'll give you a little deeper understanding of where AJ's head's at ahead of time if you already know it's there. 
> 
> Also, this AU stays pretty close to RL 'canon' dates and events and such, though obviously do to circumstances being different in this fic, some things are altered more than others. ...some are also possibly altered because while I try my best to do good BSB history research, I'm not perfect, lmao

Compared to the bags he’s used to lugging around airports, his duffle feels light as he pulls it out of the rental car’s trunk.  Still, he holds on with both hands because if he doesn’t he’ll reach out for Brian, and he can’t do that here, not out in the open like this.  It’s almost funny, the sudden reminder of how well they all learned to hold to the Rules.  When they were at their youngest, they’d never suspected it wouldn’t be long before they’d be modifying Lou’s ‘no girlfriends in public’ lectures to apply to each other. 

AJ shuffles, blinks against the bright Arizona sun.  He’s had nothing since Boston; there’s already enough of a dull ache in his head that the light stabs at him even behind his sunglasses.  All the crying he just did in the car didn’t exactly help either.  His eyelids hurt and the thought of closing them even for a few seconds is tempting, but to do that he’d have to stop looking at Brian.  Given that he’ll be spending the next 30 days not looking at Brian, it’s not worth the trade.  There’s a still, quiet part of him that’s glad he’s sober enough to know that, remembers more with instinct than image just how often in the last year he’s brushed them all aside.  When you’ve had the same constants for nearly a decade, it’s easy to fool yourself into thinking them immutable. 

Brian steps closer, busies his hands with shifting the clasp on AJ’s necklace.  “So I’m flying back to New York, but I’ve got your mom finding us a place to rent here quick as she can.  We’ll do the announcement, be back out here by Wednesday night for sure.  Okay?” 

His throat’s too tight, too full, so he nods.  Honestly, he’s mostly afraid if he opens his mouth he’ll start crying again. 

“Everyone I talked to here said no visitors first week, but next Tuesday we’ll be here.”  Brian’s voice cracks, his hands flattening a moment against AJ’s chest like he needs the contact to steady him.  “Be here so early to wait on you they’ll get tired of lookin’ at us.  I promise.” 

“Yeah, I doubt that.  They never stop lookin’ at you.”  He sounds rough, but at least he isn’t crying. 

Brian’s laugh isn’t even either.  His hand falls to tug at AJ’s fingers, stopping him from chipping at his fingernail polish.  “Stop that; you’ll miss it when it’s gone.” 

He hadn’t even realized he was doing it, but he’s so goddamn nervous it’s not surprising.  Brian’s right though; he hates the way his hands look without it.  It’s all wrong, too not _him_ but nail polish is restricted here just like almost every other fucking thing in the world.  If he makes it through the next 30 days, he’ll probably buy way too much shit when he gets out. 

AJ clear his throat, readjusts his grip on the bag.  “This is gonna suck.” 

“I bet they’ll let you have some if we bring it next week.  I’ll ask.” 

It’s a tiny thing; it shouldn’t feel like such a relief but everything else about this that sucks is so far out of his control now it’s a little comforting to find something that maybe isn’t.  It’s easier to talk about, if nothing else. 

“Hey.”  Brian squeezes his wrist, lets go much quicker than AJ wishes he would.  “I’m so proud of you for doing this.  You know that, right?” 

He’s so sincere, so _Brian_ that AJ actually aches.  He doesn’t deserve that look; he never has.  He blinks, looks down at his battered shoes and black asphalt.  “Don’t be too proud of me yet; I haven’t done shit.”  So far, all he’s done is run from the crushing reality of how far he’s let them all down.  He’s not really sure he should get any points for that. 

“You will.” 

When he was younger, he wondered if Brian’s optimism could move mountains.  It may not be a landslide, but for now it’s enough to make him pick up his feet and walk. 

\-------

If he was here for any other reason, he’d think the room was beautiful. 

Then again, if he was here for any other reason, Howie’d have already flopped down on his bed and Brian and Nick would be going around fucking with the lights and the doors and anything else shiny and new and Kevin—

AJ turns away from the window so fast he almost loses his balance, hides it by leaning one knee onto the bed.  Quick as he tried to cut off his train of thought he knows them too well, can place them anywhere too vividly.  For a second or two he can almost feel the ghost of Kevin’s arms around his waist.  When it fades, he still feels like all the air’s been tapped out of his lungs. 

He jerks his bag toward him hard, eager for the distraction.  He’s met a doctor, had a tour, sat down for food he mostly couldn’t eat.  For the sake of all the travel he’s done in the last 24 hours, after that they let him have an early night.  A few minutes ago he was grateful for that, but now that he’s alone and not being prodded in a direction, the silence is grating.  Even silence is never really silence for him, there’s always the sound of Brian humming, Nick’s fingers drumming on the side of his bunk, the steady rhythm of Howie’s breath with his head on AJ’s shoulder.  If he gets his bag open and pulls on some pajamas, that’ll at least feel a little familiar. 

He yanks back the zipper, a strangled laugh bubbling from his throat as he catches a glimpse of shit he knows he didn’t pack.  Two books, and a wrinkled grey shirt folded underneath.  The first is a notebook he’s never seen, cheap but thick, the kind stacked in grocery store aisles every few feet in September.  There’s a picture taped to the inside cover of he and Howie in the days before the band, two kids leaning back to back.  They’re both laughing and the Florida sun is bright and it’s stupid to think that it feels a thousand ago but he can’t help but think it, he _can’t_.  Cliché or not, it’s exactly how he feels. 

AJ blinks, wipes furiously at his eyes before the tears can fall and blur the words Howie’s written underneath. 

_Hey, Bone_

_Went out and got this when I realized you’d need something to write on.  I know you may not feel like it right now, but give it a day or two.  Write to us, write to your mom.  Write me a song.  Hell, write to yourself and set it all on fire when you leave, but I think it’ll help._

_You’re still here and I miss you already, but I’m proud of you.  I know you can beat this.  And in case you need the reminder, I’ve had your back for a long time.  I always will._

_Love you.  You’ll be home soon._

_D_

Before he can bring himself to close the notebook he reads it four times, traces the edges of the picture like he’s feeling out where Howie’s fingerprints linger.  As soon as he looks down, he knows the book that had rested hidden beneath it on sight. 

“Oh, man you _didn’t_ …” 

And yet he _did_ , because there’s no doubt that the Bible he pulls out isn’t some spare copy bought in an airport bookstore.  It’s _Brian’s_ , given to him by his grandmother when he was twelve years old.  The rich brown leather’s well worn in, creased from Brian’s hands and the way it’s been shoved in every size bag imaginable over the last eight years.  He almost lost it once in Zurich, but they drove back to pull it out from under the bed of a room so close to being cleaned they’d passed the woman in the hall on the way.  It’s full of notes scribbled in the margins, verses highlighted, pages turned down. 

If he had a minute to name Brian’s most prized possessions this’d top the list no question; he hasn’t been without it since AJ met him and now he’s just…handed it over.  The enormity of the gesture certainly isn’t lost on him.  He’s so affected at first he can hardly do more than stare wide-eyed at it like a mirage, but he finally tips the cover open.  There’s a folded sheet off a hotel notepad just inside, and he shakes it open to reveal Brian’s scrawl, so sharp edged and wild compared to Howie’s near perfect letters.

_I don’t have to tell you I’ve found comfort here more times than I can count.  Maybe you will too, but if all it does is sit by your bed for 30 days, it’ll still be serving its purpose._

_This, it’s important to me; it’s a symbol of faith.  I know you’ve been waiting for us to give up on you; you don’t have to say it.  I can see it.  I need you to know it won’t happen, not for me.  My faith in you is stronger than anything that tries to break it.  Even you._

_Besides, I had to give you some proof of the fact that wherever you go, you take part of me with you._

_You’ve got this._

_Love,_

_Brian_

He’s cried so much in the last fucking day and a half he’s not sure he’s got much more in him to give.  (His cheeks are wet, though, and he’s not quite sure when it happened.)  AJ sets the Bible down gently, lets it rest against his thigh as he reaches in for Nick’s crumpled note, written in silver sharpie and bound to the shirt beneath with a thin red rubber band.

_This ended up in my bag last time we got laundry back.  I’ve been meaning to give it back to him but I kept forgetting.  I figured now you need it more than he does._

_I’m not good at this; I don’t know what to say.  I’m scared, I miss you all the time lately, I’m pissed you keep everything from me you possibly can but just come home, okay?  We’ll figure it out; we always do._

_I can’t even think about not having you here, man.  30 days is long enough._

To the side he’d added a note later, smaller and quicker and in black pen. 

_You can call us; I checked.  Call me.  Love you._

He doesn’t even have to look at the shirt to know exactly what it is; the color and the mention of the laundry tells him everything.  Kevin’s brought his Tates Creek shirt with him on every tour they’ve been on from the old school tour days where he picked it up the day they played Brian’s old school.  Back then he actually wore it in public; now he wears it only when it’s just the five of them.  The letters are cracked and it’s worn thin and the last time he’d had it on it’d ended up in a pile with Nick and Howie’s clothes while the three of them had sex in the back lounge of the bus. 

AJ pulls it out, holds it to his face and breathes deep.  It smells like fucking tour detergent, lavender and some other shit but it doesn’t matter too much; his memory is excellent.  If he squeezes his eyes shut tight enough, thinks hard enough, he can make it smell like Kevin, heady and dark and perfect. 

99% of the time, it’s a turn on. 

With the day he’s had, there’s absolutely nothing shocking about the fact that this time, all he does is cry again. 

\-------

Long after the lights are out and the roommate he’d pretended to be asleep to avoid is _actually_ asleep, AJ’s still staring at the ceiling.  His head aches and he’s a little shaky, a little too hot and cold, but the withdrawal is only toying with him at this point.  It’s a light hint of what he’s sure he’ll start to feel tomorrow, feeble and still easily drowned out by the pressing reminder that he’s alone in a twin bed that feels bigger than the enormous ones they keep at the houses they shift between.  Shit, they’ve been sleeping all over each other so long even his bunk on the bus feels big now when he sleeps in it alone. 

He curls back against the wall, hugs his arms to his shivering chest and lets his mind drift back to Germany.  The present sucks; the future’s uncertain.  If he has to think about them, the past is all he’s got. 

He was seventeen that first year out of the country, the summer they made a record and fell in love with music again, and with each other for the first time.  There’d been something they hadn’t tried to define going on between him and Howie for a while, but it wasn’t until that summer that it all came together, the four of them melding and shifting piece by piece into something that was almost whole.  Nick, he was still just fifteen, and no matter how much every last one of them felt things starting to change with him too, they weren’t about to push.  He’d dealt with enough shit from his family; they were bound and determined he’d get nothing but a fair deal from them, everything his choice, every step of the way. 

His choice, but they’d meant to wait till he was older, another year or so at least.  That sort of held, here and there, but by the fall he and Brian had kissed.  In a way, that’s the rough point in time AJ’s always seen as their anniversary, if they have one—November in Berlin, Brian kissing Nick in the middle of practice in a hotel bathroom because they’d fought the day before and he couldn’t take the way Nick was looking at him, not for another second. 

There’s a thousand memories from that year he’s held onto, and he flips through them aimlessly now trying to find one that’ll let him sleep.  His head swirls with images and sensation, words he can’t pronounce and the first time they gave a show where the crowd sang along. 

The memory he catches on long enough to start drifting is a strong one, so solid and well preserved that for a second the thought flutters to the surface that it’s exactly this one he was looking for all along. 

The air conditioner on the bus is broken.  In the front seat Nick’s bitching, limbs flung out like a dog sprawled on concrete, as if the more he stretches the cooler he’ll get.  In the middle, Howie’s asleep with his head in Brian’s lap and Brian’s listening to music, reaching out to flick the back of Nick’s hand every now and then so he thinks he’s listening. 

In the backseat, he’s draped across Kevin’s chest, so stupid in love he doesn’t care that it’s goddamn hot and Kevin’s making him hotter.  They had sex for the first time last night in Munich and he fell asleep to the still rapid beat of Kevin’s heart and it’s all still so new, overwhelming in the best way.  Every time they look at each other they end up smiling and AJ wonders how in the hell they’re gonna keep from doing that on stage that night, laughs as he wonders if anyone would notice, if anyone outside this ratty old van would ever suspect. 

Kevin laughs with him though he doesn’t know the joke, smiles a little wider as he strokes his fingers through AJ’s hair.  “Alex.  What’re you thinkin’?” 

His name sounds beautiful in Kevin’s deep bass with its hint of Southern drawl and God, _God_ he’s so gone for this man it’s crazy.  He remembers falling in love with Howie, remembers thinking how incredible it’d be to hold onto that for the rest of his life.  He never dreamed then he’d fall in love three more times but here he is, diving headfirst into the second. 

He kisses Kevin’s chest through his shirt, shifts a little so one of his legs slips between Kevin’s.  “Dude, you realize you’re the only person in the world other than my grandmother who calls me Alex?”

“That’s what you were thinking?”

“Well I mean, I am now.  I thought the question was present tense.”

Kevin squeezes at the back of his neck, his hand so big and strong AJ can’t help but shiver.  “So.  Me and your grandmother.”

“And my mom, when she’s pissed, she’s all ‘Alexander James’ this and that and—“

“ _Alex_.” 

His heart skips, and he looks up into green eyes that take as firm a hold of him as Kevin’s hands ever could.  He’s speechless. 

“D’you like it?”

AJ swallows.  “Yeah, I mean…yeah.  Sometimes, if—if you want.”

Kevin’s eyes sparkle, so bright he’d have been glad he said it even if he hadn’t liked it half as much.  “Alright.  Well come here, Alex.”

He pulls hard on the back of AJ’s neck, not that he needs too much encouragement to slide further up his body and let Kevin kiss him.  It’s about a thousand degrees and the sweat that sticks AJ’s t-shirt to his chest and his back is a mix of his and Kevin’s.  They can’t make a sound and they have to go slow so the driver won’t notice, but there in the back they’re well hidden enough that they can make out at a low burn for quite a while.  They keep at it until they’re both so hard they have to stop or they’ll draw too much attention; it’s already enough that they’re both breathing heavy, both trying to hide it. 

They’re not sure if Brian knows(Brian _always_ knows), but he starts to sing and when he can Kevin joins him.   AJ lays there with his head over Kevin’s heart, counting tempo in his mind and drifting somewhere between awake and asleep that feels like just about the closest thing to heaven he could imagine. 

“…Alex?  Hey, Alex?” 

The voice is unfamiliar, high and timid.  AJ’s tangled in blankets and the air’s cold and after the vivid memory he’d fallen asleep to, waking up feels like a crash.  He croaks out a _don’t_ before his eyes are open that doesn’t even sound like a word to himself.   

“You awake?”

He is, though he rather wishes he wasn’t.  AJ cracks his eyes, squints over at a guy with blonde hair nothing like Nick’s. 

“Hey, Alex, you—“

“Don’t call me that.”  Well, those words are intelligible, but he sounds like an ass. 

The guy backpedals, even stepping back just a little from the edge of the bed.  “Sorry, I just, it was on your nametag  on the nightstand and I wasn’t sure if you—“

AJ forces himself to sit up, waves a hand at the air.  “ ‘s fine, I’m sorry; it’s just AJ, okay?”

That gets him a smile, though a small one.  Maybe he’s not scared the guy off too much.  “Okay, sorry.  You slept through the alarm, I just didn’t want you to be late for breakfast.  If you don’t get up, they come wake you up and I know it’s your first day so…” 

So he was trying to be nice, and AJ snapped his head off.  Making friends already.  “Hey, you’d be surprised what I can sleep through.” 

It should be a joke, it was _supposed_ to be a joke, and Blonde Guy must hear that because he laughs.  AJ’s stomach just drops, and he’s reminded how very hungry he isn’t. 

There’s his first lesson of the day, neatly packaged— _Don’t try and laugh about the discrepancy between where you are and where you should be.  You can’t._  

\------

His therapist is a woman named Dr. Amy Coleman.  A little past middle aged, graceful in her movements, deep brown skin that’s beautifully warm, a hint of grey at her temples.  She’s got a folder on him in front of her she hasn’t even cracked, preferring instead to study him like she’s reading all she needs off the source.  He’s without his shades and most of his jewelry and he feels naked, almost looks back over his shoulder for the boys before he can remind himself they’re not there.  He’s cold and scared and terribly alone in a way that’s usually preceded by a little over a bottle of Jack.  At this point, he usually does a line or two and goes home, maybe buries himself against Brian’s side until he feels better.  Here, all he can do is scrunch down a little further in his chair and tuck his arms in over his stomach.  They’ve done introductions already; he’s not really sure where the hell to start with everything else. 

She smiles at him from across the desk, leans on the file.  It’s pretty thin.  “How are you feeling this morning?”

Like shit, but he’s pretty sure it could be worse.  “A little sick.  Not so bad yet; I’ve had worse hangovers.”  Maybe not the best thing to say, all things considered. 

“You might not agree tomorrow, but I hope I’m wrong.  What I’d really like to hear, though, is how you feel about being _here_.”  She sits back, hands resting light on the arms of her chair.  “What brings you here, AJ?”  As he opens his mouth, she holds out her hand.  “I don’t mean the drugs or the alcohol, I mean your decision to do something about it.  Tell me what happened to change your mind.” 

He’s not sure what exactly he thought they’d be talking about, but reliving that mess is something he hadn’t planned on intentionally putting himself through for a while.  It cycles through his mind often enough without his consent.  He swallows, picks at the layer of polish on his thumb.  “I, ah.  I’d been up for days, nearly slept through a baseball game I told the guys I’d be there for.  Kevin—“  Fuck, his name hurts, like wire around his throat.  “—he broke the damn door down.  Well, one of them.  I thought he’d…anyway, we fought and he left and I just…I couldn’t do it anymore.  It was…”  Surreal, horrifying, so impossible he hadn’t even been able to grasp it until he’d finished sobbing his goddamn lungs out and tried to call Kevin.  He hadn’t answered.  “Felt like I didn’t even recognize my life anymore.  All of it, the way I’ve been living the last couple years, it’s not what I want, so I just thought I have to fix it, you know, I have to make it right and then—“

AJ sucks in a sharp breath, cuts himself off quick with a laugh that’s far too nervous.  “Can’t worry about the rest till I do the first part, right?”

“Yes and no.  It’s important to want recovery for yourself or it’ll never work; I’ve seen that with too many patients to count.  However, no one asked you to come here.  You choose this on your own and that’s an important step.  Everything else, the relationships you want to rebuild, the pieces of your life that you don’t want to lose, they’re important parts of recovery too.  You have to look at not just where you’ve been and how you got here but where you’re going.”

“Makes sense.”  He’s so grateful to at least have her half off the subject of the fight with Kevin, he’d agree with just about anything. 

There’s a look in her eyes that tells him maybe she’s not quite buying it.  His stomach twists.  “So first, we need to talk about where you’ve been, figure out exactly how you built this life you didn’t recognize.  I’ve read the history I’ve got here but that doesn’t tell me enough; I want to hear the way you see it.  How did you get here?  Why did you miss that ballgame?” 

 _Because I’m a damn asshole_ probably isn’t the answer she wants.  Everything else is a nearly incoherent mass of information, jumbled and desperate.  _My grandmother died last year and I kinda flew off the rails.  I thought I knew what I was doing; I mean I knew what I was doing but I thought I had it, I thought for a while maybe it even made me better because see here’s the thing, I’m not really all that great.  Someday, maybe even the guys’ll figure that out and it’s stupid, it’s crazy, I can hate shit about myself but I don’t want them to hate me.  I couldn’t live with it._

His head falls in his hands and he rubs at his temples like he can stop his racing thoughts with the pressure of his thumbs.  “To tell you the truth, I don’t know where the hell to start.” 

“How about you start from right there?”

He looks up, flashes her a question in his eyes she answers first with a gesture in his direction.  “Like you said.  Just tell me the truth.” 

\-------

When he thinks about it, it amazes him how the five of them fit together, every single time.  They’re a work of art that’s all intersecting lines and bleeding colors, ten relationships and one all at once.  They each do something for him no one else can; he’s always known that, but there’s nothing like being reminded of it alone on a strange bathroom floor. 

Kevin’s his safest place to hide, always, but it’s Brian he wants most desperately when he’s sick.  (For Brian, it’s Kevin.  For Kevin, it’s Howie.  For Howie, it’s AJ.  When it comes to taking care of each other, they form a pretty well-structured flowchart, until it comes to Nick.  They all hover over him like damn mother hens, but if he has his choice it’s always Kevin and Brian he wants.  Early imprinting like he did on the two of them never really fades.) 

There’s just something so inherently comforting about him; even his presence seems to alleviate nausea and his hands are always wonderfully just a little cool against AJ’s forehead.  Not that it does him much good to think about that now when Brian’s probably still thousands of miles away and utterly out of his reach. 

AJ groans, curves his elbow protectively around the top of his head to block out the light.  The tile feels pretty amazing against his forehead, shockingly cold and not at all grimy like he’s used to.  He’s ended up on a lot of bathroom floors; if he’s trying to count positives of his situation, at least this place is insanely clean.  He’s thrown up six times and he doesn’t think he’s done.  Every time he tries to get up he’s too shaky, too quickly dizzy.  A nurse came by after the second, but since he’s not actually dying it seems unless he gets a lot worse he’ll mostly be seeing himself through this one. 

There’s a point to that he knows, but there’s misery in it too. 

He misses his cell phone like a detached limb; if he had it, it’d be worth picking his head up and dealing with the throbbing long enough to send off a quick _Rok I miss you_.  He’d do it, no question, but the more he thinks about it, the more he thinks it’s best he can’t.  It’d serve no one, not really him and certainly not Brian because he knows the face he’d make, the tinge of sadness that’d filter into those pretty blue eyes.  He’d skim his thumb over the buttons on his phone before he text back because Brian is tactile like they all are, and he’d type just fast enough that his lips could follow the words as he brought them to the screen.  He’s like that when he’s focused on his writing, so drawn into it his body can’t help but follow. 

He’d answer, and he’d sit there in a hotel room in New York and hurt and feel like his inability to be where AJ is is somehow his fault and _none_ of it, none of this bullshit from start to finish has ever been Brian’s fault.  He just swoops in to look after him and he never complains, never judges, never even _questioned_ until shit got so bad he got scared.  And AJ, he just takes and takes and takes like Brian’s never going to run out of chances for him because he’s Brian.  He’s a goddamn leech.

It’s right around the moment he realizes he’s miraculously managed to make himself feel _worse_ that he also realizes facts on how empty his stomach is aside, he’s absolutely not done trying to throw up his organs. 

\-------

**[from the notebook, first page]**

_Had group therapy this afternoon; they told us to make a list of what we’ve learned since we got here.  Three days, so mine’s pretty short._

_-I don’t do well by myself, but I guess I’ve known that since I was three._

_-No matter how many times I’ve thanked Brian, I haven’t thanked him enough._

_-I think maybe never speaking to my dad again might be the way to go. I don’t know._

_-I think Howie can forgive me; hell I think he probably already has.  With Nick there’s too much to say to know where to start._

_-I’m so fucking sick of puking I swear to God.  I think I’ve lost five pounds._

_~~-I don’t know~~ _

_I’m scared as shit.  I know that.  Kevin shouldn’t forgive me.  He shouldn’t, but if he doesn’t, I don’t know if I can go home._

_That’s all I’ve got._


	2. Chapter 2

He likes Dr. Coleman; really he does.  She’s obviously got a good heart and she’s smart as hell and she listens well, but she also seems pretty damn good at her job and while that’s technically a positive, it’s also enough to make him occasionally eye her like a cat presented with water.  No one knows more than him that there’s a lot of shit he’s got to work out; hell that’s why he’s _there_ and he wanted to do this, he really did, but like most things the actual doing is proving a bit harder than he expected.  

Like now.  

He’s got no idea what she’s about to say, but the fact she’s already told him she’d like to start with a question doesn’t bode well for the next hour. 

“You’ve been here six days now.” 

 

He nods, waits for the question.  

“We’ve talked enough about your life that it’s clear to me the support you have of those close to you is very strong—“ 

“Yeah, absolutely, they’ve been better than I could’ve asked for, they—“  She wasn’t done talking; he can see it in the amusement in her eyes.  AJ stops himself, clears his throat.  “Sorry.  But yeah, yeah they’re great.” 

“And yet you haven’t called any of them.  You haven’t even bought a phone card.”  Well, he was right.  He’s probably not going to like this hour very much at all.  “I think we should talk about why that is, don’t you?  I mean, you’ve told me by everything you’ve said and done in the last few days that these are the most important people in your life, but you haven’t even looked into getting in touch with them.  You have to see that that’s not a choice I can fail to notice.”  

“It’s ah…it’s really complicated.”  Dr. Coleman watches him, unblinking and undeterred.  She’s patient though, settles back into her chair like she’s only there by the window to bask in the Arizona sun.  He thinks how much better it is over here than at the desk, less formal, more like a conversation.  He thinks about the cactus growing on the bookshelf behind her, of the time Nick bought a venus fly trap and Howie tried to feed it jelly beans.  He’s stalling, and patient as she is he knows he can only wait so long before he starts to explain.  “See, it’s…I’m not used to talking about this, I mean outside the band.” 

“It’s alright; take your time.  Remember, nothing you tell me ever leaves this room, and I can only help you if you’re honest with me.  This has to be a place you can be honest with yourself; if there’s something—“

“We’re in a relationship.”  God, he hasn’t had to explain this since he told his mother.  The actual spitting it out hasn’t gotten any easier; if anything his words ran together a little more this time around.  “Me and the guys, and I’m not saying it’s a _type_ of relationship I literally mean—“ 

“I understand what you’re saying.”  Given the lack of shock on her face, he wouldn’t have believed it.  _His_ shock must be showing though because she gives him a half smile.  “You’ll find I’m very hard to shock; I can’t imagine I’d be very good at my job if I didn’t have a very open mind.”  

“More people like you in the world would save us a lot of trouble; I’ll tell you that.”  He says it before he thinks, so shocked by relief that she’s not looking at him like he’s out of his mind that it just spills out.  She laughs, and he’s not sorry he said it.  The tension that had squeezed so vise tight around his lungs has eased up, though not half as much as he’d like.  Relatively speaking, that admission was the _easy_ one. 

“So the five of you are in a relationship.  How long?” 

“It’ll be six years in November.”  

“So you have relationships that seem to be built on a solid foundation, people who love you and fully supported your decision to come here.  If anything, that only adds weight to my original question—there’s a reason you don’t want to speak to them.  What is it?”  

His stomach twists, and he rubs his palms hard against his jeans.  “No, I mean, I want to talk to them, I _really_ want to talk to them God you have no idea, but—“  His voice catches.  He bites his cheek, dredges up the lesser of two difficult admissions.  “The phones here are all in common areas, and I get that.  You don’t want us calling dealers, friends we’ve been partying with and all that shit, and hell I’m used to talking to them like they’re just my brothers.  We do it every day, but…I’m kind of a mess right now, and I don’t think—“  _Jesus_.   He has yet to burst into tears in front of her but really, it was probably only a matter of time.  Still, he blinks, fights it.  “I don’t think I can talk to them like that right now.  There’s too much goin’ on.”  

“What if I arranged for you to have a chance to take your phone time in private, here in my office?  We have regulations in place for a reason and I’d have to be present, only to ensure you don’t make any calls that would set you back.  But if you want…”  

“Really?”  It’s strange, the way everything in him wars between hope and fear.  His mouth is dry and he feels like his hands are probably trembling, but the quick beat of his heart is strong enough that he can feel it in his bones.  

“Of course.  But…I have a feeling there’s more than that to your hesitation.  You don’t seem to me the type of person to wait around when you want something; you go after it.  As I understand it, that’s what got you where you are now, taking audition after audition when you were still just a child.  In the position you’re in, I’d imagine you’ve become quite accustomed to special accommodations being made for you as a necessity.  You could have asked at any time if you could make your calls in private, but you didn’t do it.  Maybe because so long as you could tell yourself that you _couldn’t_ call, you wouldn’t have to think about what you’d say when you did?”  

He should answer, really, but he’s still working on the whole not bursting into tears thing.  

“Here, let’s come at this another way.”  Her voice is gentle, coaxing.  He’s not looking, and he’s almost glad.  She’s great, but he doesn’t really want to see sympathy right now.  He’s not at all sure he deserves it.  “I’ll arrange for you to have 20 minutes of phone time this evening, right here.  Who do you call first?”  

“Nick.”  He doesn’t even have to think, just open his mouth.  It’s a nice change when the answers are simple.  

“Okay.  You make your call.  Are you afraid he won’t pick up?” 

“No, no that phone’s on him like a tick, especially when we’re not all together.  He won’t know the number but he’ll see the area code; he’ll know it’s me, or he’ll hope it’s me or…he’ll pick up.” 

“You sound very sure.” 

“He asked me to call.”  

“He asked, and you’re still afraid to call him?”  

“You don’t understand; it’s not that simple.”

“Then make me.  He asks you to call him, and you put it off.  Do you think he’s angry?” 

“Oh I know he’s angry, but I don’t think he’s gonna yell or anything.  The kid’s like a volcano, he simmers for about a hundred years before he loses it.”  And when he does, you get everything, every last bit of it all thrown so hard it sticks.  “It’s more that…”  If he can’t say it to her, he’s not sure how he’ll ever say it to Nick.  Not that he needs to, really, not after everything that went down last week.  AJ sighs, does his best to square his shoulders.  Slightly rounded is apparently the best he can do.  “I lied to him.  A lot.  And on one hand that’s really not special—I’ve been lyin’ to everybody, but the thing is, most of them started to doubt me.  He never did.  It’s like how it is with my mom, only worse because I’m her child, her baby; she puts blinders on and it’s not cause she put me on a pedestal it’s just cause she knows I do things she doesn’t want to think about, and cause she doesn’t see me every day.  Nick, he lives with me and he _still_ bought it every damn time I told him I wasn’t on drugs, pushed back on the others when they tried to tell him he was wrong.  He wouldn’t hear a word against me.  And then I have to stand there and tell them I’m comin’ here for alcohol and coke and—“ 

The sob ambush catches him mid-breath, drags him down while he’s knocked off his feet by the memory of the way Nick had looked at him.  It hurts to breathe, hurts when he doesn’t.  

“The look on his face it was this…like I’d just pulled the ground out from under him.  I was his big brother before I was anything else, one of the first people in his life he’s ever trusted and he just gives me his trust, absolute, and this is the shit I do with it?”  He’s crying hard, talking too fast.  He’s a fucking mess.  AJ leans forward, elbows on his knees so he can press his palms against his eyes.  “ ‘m sorry, fuck, cry every time I think about them lately I just—“ 

“No, don’t be sorry; crying has a purpose.  Let it happen.”  

It’s good she thinks so, really, because he’s not at all sure how to stop.  

\-------

After dinner, he walks in the desert and thinks back to Oakland in March, he and Nick in a hotel room that looked out over the water.  

He’s fucking around with Kevin’s keyboard set up on a desk in the corner, so out of touch he actually doesn’t notice the way Nick’s watching him.  (Remembering, he wonders with more than little disgust how long it’d have taken him to figure out something was wrong if Nick hadn’t spoken.  He doesn’t want to know the answer.) 

Nick finally gets up the courage to question him while he’s still watching from the middle of the room, chin resting on arms crossed over the back of a chair.  

“AJ?” 

“Hmm?”  

“I ah, I heard Kevin and Brian fighting last night.”  

AJ stops his hands on the keys, though he still doesn’t look up.  “Yeah?  Seemed okay this morning.” 

“It was about you.”  Nick’s got his attention full on with that.  When AJ looks up, he can see the fear in Nick’s eyes and it hits him in the chest, dart sharp.  “Look I know they didn’t want me to hear but I’m not a fucking kid; if something’s goin’ on I’ve got a right to know.  They say you’re doing drugs, like hard fucking shit and Brian says he thinks you can work it out but Kevin says it’s past that and I—“  Nick shoves himself out of the chair, hard enough to knock it over, his legs nearly tangling in it as he steps around.  “I don’t know what to think, man, but if it’s true I wanna hear it from you.  Are you?” 

His heart’s pounding, he’s gripping onto the edge of that desk like it’s a goddamn shield and Nick is looking at him with eyes that say they’ll believe whatever AJ says, no matter what it is.  AJ doesn’t blink. 

“ _No_.  God, no, of course I’m not.”  

“I mean, you’d tell me, right?  That first time we drank together, you promised—“ 

“I know, I know; Nicky, I swear.  If I’d done something, I’d tell you.”  He’s going straight to hell.  In that moment, he’s really fucking sure of it.  Nick looks down like he’s unsure, maybe like he’s trying to process but either way, AJ doesn’t give him time.  He gets to his feet quick, goes right to him to drape his arms around Nick’s waist and pull him close.  “Hey, hey, babe, look at me.”  He does, of course he does because with them he’s as trusting as a fucking puppy.  Tomorrow he’s going to have to drink a lot to try and forget this.  A hell of a lot.  “I’m okay.  Alright?  Promise.”  

Nick nods once, wraps around him so fast he’s mumbling into AJ’s shoulder while AJ’s still shifting to take his weight.  “Just tell me you won’t, okay?  They scared the shit out of me; Kevin was sayin’ if we didn’t do something you were gonna die and—“  His voice breaks, a brittle sound.  Now that he’s really listening AJ can tell how rough he sounds.  Like he’s been crying, like he’s hardly slept.  

AJ shushes him, tries to keep his heart from pounding hard enough that Nick’ll feel it.  “You forget about that, alright?  It‘s just Kevin being Kevin; you know how he is.  If he’s not worryin’ about one of us he’ll get sick.  It’s a serious condition.”  Nick’s laugh is weak, but at least it’s there.  “I’m not goin’ anywhere, okay?  Don’t you worry about me.  I won’t touch that shit.”  

Four months past that afternoon he looks back on it all through different eyes.  At the time, he felt sick and told himself he had to do it anyway.  Now, he sees his excuses for what they were.  He lied, and he coaxed Nick into bed with him to keep him distracted, keep him trusting.  That night after the show he pulled Nick back to the room with him, and they drank whiskey from the same bottle and danced and he made Nick come so hard grinding up against the wall that he was pretty sure Brian heard them from the other side.  

Once Nick was asleep, he got out of bed and did three lines in the bathroom.  

The second time he overdosed, when he could feel Kevin pulling at him like he was underwater and out of reach, there was a moment in the haze he remembered Oakland, the feel of Nick’s breath against his shoulder as he tried his best not to cry.  He remembered, and it spurred the fleeting thought that if he dies he hopes there’s nothing after, no way for him to see the look on Nick’s face when they tell him.  

He walks two miles with Nick and Oakland and overdoses spinning around and around in his head.  When he finishes the trail he’s got about a half hour before his phone call.  The phone card he bought weighs his pocket down like a rock and he’s no closer to knowing what to say than he was when he started, but he feels a little tired from something other than being sick or running out of blow, and that’s not nothing.  

\-------

The phone rings three times but the wait feels interminable.  AJ leans on the edge of the desk, wraps the cord around his fingers until it hurts.  He can’t remember the last time he made a call on a phone that wasn’t his cell or one of the boys and the difference is strange, unnatural but a bit of a welcome distraction.  At least there’s something to do with his hands.  

“Hello?”  Jesus, he’s a wreck.  Just the sound of Nick’s voice has him choked up.  

He tries to hide it behind a breath of laughter, strained and faint.  “Hey, Nicky.”  

“Holy—“  There’s a scuffling sound, and AJ closes his eyes to see Nick better, the way he’s probably juggling the phone against his shoulder as he sits up straight in a chair he was probably draped across sideways.  “Guys, it’s AJ!”  He yells with his mouth too close to the phone; he fucking _always_ does.  AJ only presses the handset closer to his ear.  “It’s been fuckin’ _days_ , man, Brian wanted to call to check on you but Howie said maybe you just couldn’t call yet but I fuckin’ asked, I _told_ them—“ 

“And you’re right; you’re right about that but it’s not—“  AJ shifts against the desk, glances up at the cracked door that leads to Dr. Coleman’s inner office.  She told him she’s only here to monitor that he’s not talking deals over the phone, and he believes that.  He’s just as sure, though, that it’s pretty damn impossible not to pick up most of a conversation in a quiet room, and she’s his freakin’ _therapist_.  If she’s even half assed paying attention, he’ll probably give her enough food for thought for a week and a half off a single phone call.  “I didn’t want to call till it was just you and me.  The phones everybody else uses, there’s people everywhere and I just couldn’t…I don’t think I’m up to the whole bandmates and brothers thing right now, you know?  I mean keeping it up talking about you guys is one thing but—“ 

“Yeah, no I got it.  I got it.  It’s okay, Bone.”  There’s so much affection in that one word it makes him shiver, his throat gone tight.  The silence after is more comfortable than he expected any moment of this entire call to be, enough that he can feel a rising spark of defiant hope.  Nick’s pissed, and he should be, but AJ can’t feel any trace of the walls he half expected to have already been thrown up against him.  So long as Nick doesn’t shut him out, they can fix anything.  

“Yeah?  We’re okay?”  It’s only after he says it that AJ feels the full weight of all those words could mean, trailing behind on his tongue.  “I mean I know—  I know we’ve got a lot to talk about when I get outta here and I know I fucked up, I know that, and we can talk about—  _Fuck_ I just mean…”  Every time he trips over himself he expects Nick to interrupt, come in louder and faster and tell him that everything else between them, that’s all gonna be okay too.  It’s pretty damn ludicrous for him to be hurt when he doesn’t, but he can’t really do shit about the way he feels.  “I didn’t mean for everything to go down like it did.  I was—“  _I was gonna tell you_ , that’s what he means to say, but it’s another lie and he just can’t get it out.  “I should’ve told you.  You shouldn’t have had to find out like that.” 

“Damn right about that.”  He means it, that much is clear, but there’s no real malice there.  Nick breathes deep, and there’s another rasp of fabric like he’s settling back into his chair again.  “I mean, I feel like if you coulda gotten away with it you wouldn’t have told me at all.  Said you were taking a fuckin’ trip or something.”  

“That’s not true.”  It’s not, it’s _actually_ not, but his voice cracks and he’s not sure Nick’ll believe him.  He hasn’t exactly given him ample reason to, after all.  “Look, I know I can’t fix it; I know that.  I mean, at least I can’t change it, and I know it’s too much to talk about right now; all I’m asking is…”  Too much, maybe.  Shit, he’s so fucking bad at this; he hasn’t even said he’s sorry.  “Shit, I’m so fucking sorry; I mean it.  I shouldn’t be asking you anything; I can wait as long as you need, just…just tell me if—“ 

“You did that ass backwards, you know that, right?  Most people apologize _first_.”  There’s something in his voice that’s so fucking _fond_ it hurts, digs into AJ’s heart like a thousand little hooks.  

“You want me to try again?”  His voice is thick, heavy in a way he knows Nick has to hear.  If he can’t believe the words, that much just might carry.  

“I didn’t say I _minded_ ass backwards.”  AJ chokes on the laugh that bubbles from his throat, wraps his arm a little tighter around his stomach.  “And you’re wrong about that middle part, some of it at least.  Ain’t nothing we can’t fix.  So goin’ back to what should have been at the end—“  Nick talks too fast but not like he’s rushing, not like it’s not real.  “—we’re okay.  I mean this shit is big, I won’t say it’s not, but so long as you want to fix it—“ 

“I do.” 

“—then we can fix it.  I just want you to be okay.  ‘s all I really want.”  His voice goes soft, wounded and a little scared.  It’s a sound AJ’s known since he was 14, one that makes the distance hurt.  At this point, usually he throws his arm around Nick’s neck and pulls him in all rough and playful until he laughs.   

AJ picks up the phone base and carries it with him to rest on the floor beneath the closest window.  It’s no proper window seat but he’s small and the space is just wide enough to fold himself into, scrunched up against glass with phone cord trailing over his knees.  “I’ll be okay.  I’m workin’ on it.  Getting back to you and the fellas, that’s all I want too.”  More than anything, more than he realized until he was lying on his hotel room floor hearing Kevin’s fists connect against a door he wasn’t sure he wanted to hold.  It’s a terrible feeling to realize what you want most is exactly what you used to have.  AJ swallows hard, presses on before Nick asks him any questions.  “So you guys are in town now, right?”  It’s stupid, maybe, but it’s comforting to think of them in the same time zone, the same city.  He’s not used to more distance between them than a few walls; even when they split up and divide across the country to houses they keep separate because they have to no one’s ever completely alone, not unless they want to be.  AJ can get enough alone time in a few hours, a day or two at most.  

“Yeah we’re here; your mom found us a place not too far out.  Didn’t wanna have to go far when we come see you on Tuesday.”  

He can hear Nick’s smile and it makes his stomach jump, his knees curl in a little tighter as he leans into the glass.  He’s really, _really_ not used to this.  “Yeah, can’t wait for that.  How’s our boys?“  He has to ask while he can, while he has momentum.  The answer’s going to hurt either way, but maybe now he’ll at least get it over with quick.  

“Hey, hold on a sec, okay?”  

AJ nods though Nick can’t see him, holds his breath and listens to muffled words he can’t place and the sound of a closing door.  He didn’t really expect the answer to be good, but knowing Nick’s gone outside to give it makes him wish he was outside too.  Or that this window cracked.  Fuck, he needs a cigarette.  

“You’ve gotta call Kevin.” 

And here he thought he was done with nausea.  “I’m pretty sure that’s the _last_ thing I need to do.” 

“No, I’m serious; AJ, he’s fucked up.”  He _is_ serious; that much is true.  Serious, and talking low like even out wherever the fuck he’s gone someone might be listening.  “He hardly spoke to us for like three days;  he’s goin’ off by himself all the time, he looks like he’s been cryin’ but we never see it, he’s sleepin’ alone, I mean not that I care too much because he’s an ass when he’s here but—“ 

“Whoa, hey, hey, you don’t mean that.” 

“The fuck I don’t!”  AJ pinches the bridge of his nose, tries not to flinch away from Nick’s sudden yelling.  He wonders what the statistics would be on how often yelling’s involved when there’s two or more of them talking these last few months—wonders, and dismisses it.  He feels queasy enough without picturing a goddamn pie chart.  “I mean you need us right now, we’re supposed to fuckin’…pull together or whatever and he’s bein’ a dick to you, bein’ a dick to us and I’m not gonna fuckin’ put up with it; I told him I was pissed he didn’t get off his ass when you left—“ 

“ _Nick_ —“ 

“Don’t ‘ _Nick_ ’ me; that was bullshit!”  There’s a tiny, tiny part of him that’s comforted by Nick’s rage.  He should probably feel worse about that than he does but hey, he’s got time.  He’ll probably fit all that guilt in later, when he’s not sleeping.  “I mean we’re supposed to be a family; we take care of each other, nothin’ like how I grew up, he promised, he’s said it to me a hundred fucking times and he turns around and pulls this shit?  Cause I can see dad doin’ this, straight up.” 

It’s like swallowing ice and steel, like this weight of radiating cold in the pit of his stomach.  The chill radiates out, leaves his fingers numb.  “You didn’t say that to Kevin.”  He hears Nick’s breath and nothing else, harsh and quick.  He’s either more pissed than AJ thought, or he’s crying.  More than likely, it’s both.  “Nick, _please_ tell me you didn’t fuckin’ say that shit to Kevin.”  

“I was pissed.” 

“Jesus _Christ_ , Nick—“ 

“He _deserved_ it!  You think I’m gonna watch him kick you while you’re down and not say a goddamn thing?  What the hell kind of boyfriend would I be?  And I mean if he gives up on you who’s to say—“  He wavers, and AJ hears a sound that could be something hitting a metal railing.  He really hopes it’s the hand that’s _not_ already broken.  “—I mean how can we trust him?  If I give him too much trouble, is he just gonna give up on me too?”  

Right there it is, fear that’s wrapped up in all the rest so thick he’s not even sure how well Nick sees it.  He absolutely cares about the way Kevin treated AJ; of course he does.  Nick’s rash and loyal and he does everything a thousand miles an hour so all that anger he’s got over what Kevin’s doing now, that’s undoubtedly real, but it’s also opened a few old doors.  Nick knows all too well what it’s like when families fall apart, when people hurt each other because they want to.  He knows, and now the place he’d thought was safe from all that shit doesn’t seem so safe anymore.  Without speaking to them he’s not sure if Brian and Howie have that particular full picture yet, but at the moment he feels like _he_ really should have put it together sooner.  

“Sweetheart, listen to me; I need you to listen.”  He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t keep yelling or bitch that AJ’s babying him either.  AJ takes it as encouragement.  “Kevin loves you, and right now—“ 

“He loves you too!  I know he does; he’s a fuckin’ mess and I don’t know why he won’t—“ 

“Because things with me and Kevin are complicated!  The shit I’ve done to him—“ 

“You’ve done shit to me too; I ain’t about to walk out on you over it!”  

“And I’m really fucking grateful for that; I am, but it’s different with him, okay?  You just gotta trust me on that.  He’s known what was up with me longer than any of you; he’s been through shit you don’t even know about and on top of that there’s stuff between the two of us that…I mean you know about that, man.  It’s different.  He trusted me, and I don’t know if…I can’t blame him if he doesn’t want to give that back.”  He won’t blame him, but he’s not sure he’ll recover, either.  That part he’ll keep to himself.  “Just let me handle me and Kevin when I get home.  If you really want to help me out, you make sure he’s okay.” 

“He isn’t.” 

“I _know_ , Nick, but if you’d just stop giving him a hard time—“ 

“If he’d stop—“ 

“ _No_ , don’t wait for _him_ to do anything.  You love him and you’re fuckin’ worried about him or you wouldn’t have gone outside and told me to call him.”  He knows he’s right, he _knows_ , but Nick’s huff is still satisfying.  “Right.  So when we get off the phone you wait till you calm down then go find him and tell him you’re sorry—and don’t you say ‘for what’ cause you know damn well he didn’t fucking deserve what you threw at him.”  

“Don’t I need to be sorry first?” 

“You are; you’re just too damn stubborn to admit it.” 

Nick laughs and it’s far from a happy sound, but AJ’s fingers unclench a little on the handset all the same.  “I miss you.”  

“I miss you too.”  He feels like his veins are in knots, his skin crawling.  If Nick was here, they’d be wrapping around each other right now, his arm around Nick’s waist, sliding under his shirt more for the warmth than the skin.  “C’mon, talk to me about somethin’ else; anything else.” 

“You sure you don’t want me to go get the guys?  I mean Brian and Howie—“ 

“I love Brian and Howie, but I called you and I’m not done with you yet.  We got 20 minutes and I think we already burned through a good bit of that, so let’s go, gimme some normal.”

This time, his laughter sounds better, more Nick-like.  “Dude, that makes it sound like I’m your prison phone call.” 

“Under no circumstances would you be my prison phone call; you’d be too busy laughing your ass off to come pick me up.” 

“Shit, I’d probably be in there with you.” 

“Fair point.  Alright, you’re in with me so we call Howie.  No sad Brian eyes, no…Kevin judging.”  It’s too soon to mention Kevin, far too soon, but it’d hurt more to leave him out.  Still, he’s quick to change the subject.  “Hey, I got something half normal; you wanna do me a favor?” 

“Yeah, anything.  What do you need?”  

“Fingernail polish.  Mine’s almost gone and I couldn’t bring any in but I think they’ll let you bring me a bottle or two.” 

“What color?” 

“I don’t know; surprise me.” 


	3. Chapter 3

If he asked Kevin when things first changed between them years ago, he knows the answer Kevin would give wouldn’t match his.  Not that he can ask Kevin anything right now, but it’s the kind of realization brought on by having way too much time to think about things he’d rather not think about.  Kevin tends to top that list.  

He knows just what Kevin would say and he wouldn’t exactly be wrong, but AJ carries secrets around like coins in his pocket, remembers days Kevin’s probably forgotten because at the time they didn’t seem all that important.  It was in the later days of Europe, on a bus that still seemed an unbelievable mark of status.  He can’t remember now what exactly brought the anxiety on but he remembers pacing, remembers the feel of restlessness needling under his skin right up until Kevin reached out to snag his wrist and pull him down into his lap. 

He’d said _will you stop; you’re driving me nuts_ but there was no real anger there, just worry hidden under a thin veneer of irritation they’d all learned to see through long ago.  For about half a second AJ had thought that he should get up and out of the way but then Kevin’s hand was on the back of his neck and AJ found himself melting into it.  It wasn’t much, just a light hold at the nape of his neck and the drape of Kevin’s right arm around his waist, holding him loosely in his lap like he belonged there.  At the time he couldn’t quite articulate _why_ he felt better, only knew that Kevin had done what he always had far less luck doing on his own and snapped him far enough out of his nervous energy to relax and let it go. 

He didn’t quite know how to say that, so he said nothing.  That night, he slipped into bed with Kevin and curled up so tight against him Kevin could feel his relief, taste it as he kissed him before Kevin asked what was wrong.  AJ said _nothing now_ when he should have said _thank you_ , and it was months and hundreds of miles before it came up again.  

The time he knows Kevin remembers, that was Stockholm, after a long show and a longer drive.  He’d been a little off for days, a little too quiet though if the guys had asked(and they had) he wouldn’t have been able to place exactly _why_ even for himself.  He was sharing with Kevin that night, or at least he’d planned to but he almost left after they got in a stupid fight over AJ’s missing CD player.  He can’t remember half of what they said before he got up to leave, but everything after is crystal clear, courtesy of a thousand repetitions.  

Kevin grabs his wrist right before he hits the door, yanks him back close.  Kevin’s strong and AJ’s thrown off balance, not quite pissed enough to shake him off.  He lets himself be maneuvered, though he’s still stubbornly staring at the handle on the door like he’s ready to grab it the second Kevin lets go.  Maybe he would have and maybe he wouldn’t; there’s no telling because Kevin doesn’t like being ignored.  

He snaps out a “For God’s sake will you _look at me_?”, though he doesn’t really give AJ any time at all to decide to do anything of the sort.  His hand fits to AJ’s throat, just under his chin and what’s amazing, really, isn’t the force behind the gesture but the _lack_ of it.  He could make AJ face him, shift his grip up to take his chin and turn it wherever he wants but this, it’s hardly restraint at all.  It’s nothing but light pressure, like he hopes just the act of holding on will be enough to get him what he wants. 

He’s not _wrong_ , but that’s sure as hell not all it does.  

AJ’s a confused jumble, all over the fucking map because Kevin’s hand is fucking enormous and it’s warm and without any real effort it’s just about covering his entire goddamn throat and he feels like his knees are about to give out.  He’s hot and cold, dizzy.  He shivers and realizes he’s getting hard and he’s not sure when it happened.  

Kevin knows none of it but the shiver, feels it under his hands and strokes his thumb gently against the side of AJ’s neck.  “Alex?” 

Shit _fuck_ that only makes it worse.  His breath catches and he reaches out, clings to Kevin’s shirt to draw him closer.  “Yeah I’m—‘s stupid, sorry I’m—“  He keeps tripping, can’t finish anything because he’s given in and looked up at Kevin and all he can see is green eyes and worry and love and all the anger that seemed so all encompassing a minute ago is fraying away. 

“I didn’t want you to leave like that, but if—“ 

“No, I’m— Kevin just…”  He’s horribly inarticulate, gives up and pulls at Kevin’s collar in way that can’t be mistaken.  Kevin lets him, and then they’re kissing.  Kevin’s hand’s still at his throat and AJ’s moaning, utterly uncontrolled, little hungry needy sounds that have Kevin pressing against him in record time.  He only breaks it off when Kevin’s hand starts to shift, AJ’s hand scrabbling to keep his arm from dropping.  “Don’t, please, can you—“ 

God love him, Kevin’s quick on the uptake.  Something flashes in his eyes and he shudders, slides his hand back up from his chest.  He squeezes gently as his palm settles, bites down light at AJ’s lip when AJ moans like he’s falling apart.  “Right there; you like that?”  It’s in his roughest voice, deep and low and a little jagged like he’s so fucking turned on it’s making him crack around the edges.  

AJ arches, whines when the movement adds just a little pressure.  “Yeah, fuck yeah; don’t stop.”  

He doesn’t.  That first time he holds on oh so light and careful, enough that they both feel it but not enough to change anything about the cadence of AJ’s breath, ragged and deep.  It doesn’t matter; it’s enough.  It’s all shockingly new, so overwhelming AJ comes faster than he has in ages, riding Kevin’s thigh with both their pairs of sweatpants still in place.  It’s so intense he has to cling to Kevin to keep to his feet as he comes down, trembles with a fresh wave of heat when Kevin follows him over the edge and groans his name against AJ’s ear.  

They’re strangely quiet after, at least at first, though the silence isn’t uncomfortable.  They shower again though they already had after the show, kiss slow and easy for a while under water so hot AJ can feel his skin turning pink.  It’s only when they’re back in bed where this all started that AJ realizes how much lighter he feels, how the tension he’d been carrying at the base of his neck feels almost gone.  Not to mention, any separation from Kevin feels like too much; he can’t press close enough to him.  Kevin doesn’t seem to mind.  

He tucks AJ in tight against him, kisses his hair, the corner of his eye, the slope of his cheek.  

“We’re gonna have to talk about this, Bone.” 

He knows, he does, but he’s warm and he feels good and he can tell that Kevin does too.  Hell, if he was radiating any more contentment out of his chest he’d be a damn purring cat.  Right then, AJ doesn’t want to analyze any of it; he just wants to enjoy it.  He buries his face against Kevin’s chest, wraps his arm an inch or two tighter around his waist.  “Tomorrow.” 

He feels Kevin’s laugh, deep and rich.  “Alright.  Tomorrow.”  He sighs, nuzzles gently against AJ’s shoulder.  His strip of beard is scratchy, and still AJ leans into it.  “You know how much I love you?”  

At the time, in this memory he’s relived more times than he could ever be sure of, AJ says “Yeah, I think I do.”  He kisses Kevin’s chest, murmurs his own _I love you.  I’m sorry I was an ass._ and shushes Kevin when he tries to keep talking.  They fall asleep smiling and wake up smiling and it’s the start of something new inside something already amazing and usually it’s not the sort of memory that makes his chest feel like it’s cracking open. 

Lying in bed alone AJ rolls over so that the wall is against his back because it’s the only way he ever falls asleep in this place with any measure of ease.  It doesn’t feel anything like a person, nothing at all like any of his boys, but it’s a step above blank space.  He leans into it, zeroes his mind in on the end of his memory, Kevin’s _do you know how much I love you?_ looped over and over until he wishes he could shut himself up.  

It’s stupid, it’s so goddamn _stupid_ because his chest is tight and he’s so fucking anxious it hurts and all he wants is for Kevin to swoop in and take the weight off his shoulders for a little while, only this time the weight is Kevin himself.  Even _if_ he were here, he’d be just as likely to walk out the damn door as he would be to get in bed with him and— 

Hell, he’s only kidding himself.  There’s no ‘just as likely’ about it.  He’d walk out; he made that clear enough when he wouldn’t even look up to tell him goodbye.  There’s part of him now that wishes he’d followed through on the crazy impulse he’d had to say _will you just look at me?_ , though he’s mostly glad he didn’t.  He’s not sure he wants to know how the reference would have hit him, if he’d have noticed, if he’d have looked up or flinched or kept his cool and turned a page in his book.  

 _Do you know how much I love you?_  

No, he doesn’t.  He doesn’t have a goddamn clue, all he’s got are a thousand memories good and bad and a shirt that doesn’t smell like Kevin no matter how hard he keeps trying to imagine it does.  He doesn’t know, but if he could ask a question of his own right now, it’d be this— 

 _Enough to forgive me for fucking us up?  For everything I did to you?_  

When he tries to imagine how that might go, the Kevin in his head is silent.  

\-------

The morning of his first day of visitation rights, he doesn’t eat a damn thing.  He can’t, he’s too high strung, but he tries to make it look like he’s nibbled at his cinnamon roll, rips it up into tiny pieces just about right for JD’s little mouth.  He makes it through group therapy, kills an hour wandering the halls before he shows up ten minutes early to the room Dr. Coleman told him he’d get to see his visitors in.  

Assuming he has visitors, that is.  (Not that he _really_ doubts they’ll show up, but, well…fuck, he can’t help but worry, even if it’s stupid, even if he _knows_ it’s stupid.  He’s put them all through a lot of crap.  He wouldn’t exactly blame them if they needed to be away from him for a while.)  

He’s already picked the last of his nail polish off and he catches himself doing the next best thing, tugging on the skin around the edge of his nails like he’ll feel better if he rips it off.  He won’t, he knows, and if Howie sees he’ll make a face and rub his fingers but he can handle that.  Given the circumstances, he’ll cling to all the familiarity he can get, even if some of it is Howie’s well-meaning disapproval.  

Dr. Coleman’s smiling when she opens the door.  His heart feels like it’s kicking against his ribs, so hard and fast it’s distracting.  She’s looking at him with enough question in her eyes that he realizes she’s already spoken and he missed it.  Shit.  

AJ coughs, rubs his hands together.  “Sorry, what?” 

He has to give it to her, she’s patient.  She doesn’t even look irritated for a second.  “They’ve been waiting to see you all morning.  You can come on in now.”  

They switch places, AJ stepping through the doorway and her stepping out of it.  As the door shuts behind him, he holds his breath, looks up and notices three things at once—Nick is pacing, Howie’s got his arm around Brian’s shoulder on the couch, and other than them the room is empty.  Kevin’s not here.  

He tried so goddamn hard to prepare himself for this likely eventuality that he can’t say he’s surprised, not in the truest since of the word, but he feels weak anyway, out of breath like he’s been punched in the lungs.  He hates it, hates that he feels so shaken when he should have _known_ , dammit, and this is a good moment because the rest of them are here, the only chance he’ll get to see them all week.  He can’t waste it being upset when he knew— _shit_ , he already knew.  

He’s so lost in catching his breath and berating himself that Nick’s hug shocks him, sudden and tight.  Nick’s hugs are all encompassing, heavy and sometimes a little suffocating but right now it’s such a fucking relief AJ lets out a slightly stilted laugh.  

Nick nuzzles into his neck, breath hot against his skin.  “I fuckin’ missed you.”  

AJ latches on, clinging to Nick every bit as hard as he’s gripping AJ’s back.  “Fucking missed you, too.”  With the pressure of Nick against him he’s starting to feel stronger, a little less like his knees might give out on him.  The increased stability is nice, but before he can even think of pulling back they’re being surrounded, Howie’s hand on his shoulder and his mouth on AJ’s cheek, Brian’s arm tucking beneath Nick’s around his waist.  

It’s almost perfect, _would_ be perfect but his back feels cold in a way that’s jarring, an off key reminder of exactly where Kevin isn’t.  

\-------

Before he ever checked into this place, one thing AJ looked into was whether or not they let their patients smoke.  That one was a must for him; he’s given up two vices, it’s not too much to ask that he be allowed to hold onto the one that hurts him the least.  He can do that here but there’s less time for it, so he tends to save his cigarettes for when he really needs them, times he feels too antsy in his own skin or celebratory, like he’s just made progress.  

Feeling like Kevin’s just walked away from him all over again is more of a four cigarette situation, even with his rationing.  Without, it’d probably be closer to half a pack. 

He settles into the ledge of the terrace overlooking the pool, leans back against the building and fumbles for his lighter.  Down below, there’s a group gathering for a sunset swim.  Water polo or basketball or some shit, by the looks of it.  He lights up, pulls hard on his first drag and leans into the railing.  Out past the outbuildings and trails, the desert’s painted orange and red, glorious in its fire.  Brian would have something to say about that.  

About Kevin, none of them had had much to say.  Almost nothing in fact, like they feared the mention of him might make something crack.  It was only right before they had to leave that Howie had broken that, held AJ’s hand between his and spoke softly as he said _He’s worried sick about you.  AJ, he’s miserable.  I’m not…I’m not making excuses for him not being here._   There, he’d shot Nick a look that told AJ this was a fight they’d had on the way out here, possibly more than once.  _All I’m saying is, you don’t fall to pieces like that over someone you don’t care about.  I think we all just need to give him time._  

Nick’s anger was clearly too fresh; no matter how quickly he banished it to change the subject AJ had glimpsed it on his face.  Dark and irritable, fresher, perhaps, because he _had_ taken AJ’s advice and been working to patch things up with Kevin.  Out of the four of them, he’d probably been the only one who genuinely believed Kevin’d be there.  

On that particular topic, Brian had been harder to read.  He’d stayed quiet, gone along willingly when Nick steered the conversation away.  There was only a slight shake of his head, something a little worryingly grim about the set of his mouth when Howie said Kevin’s name.  He was pissed or worried, maybe both.  It was over too quick for AJ to be sure, hidden with a smile and welcome warmth as Brian leaned into his side, arm draping around his shoulders.  

It was easier to postpone dealing with it himself, too, so long as they were there.  Now, they’re gone and he’s feeling their absence on top of Kevin’s, like a scraped out wound.  He tilts his head back, breathes out and watches smoke curl up past the silhouette of the building, toward the clouds.  Shit, what the fuck had he really expected?  That Kevin would come and sit in the corner?  Come, and pretend nothing ever happened?  He’s not the type; he never has been.  Nick, he can scream that he can’t stand to fucking look at you one minute and be crawling into your bed the next.  He throws words around more for affect than out of honest intent and that’s okay; it’s Nick.  They’re all used to it, but Kevin, he’s never said anything to any of them like he did to AJ in Boston.  

 _I gave you a thousand chances; I’ve fucking been right here!  All you’ve done is prove you can’t meet me halfway; you can’t meet me fucking anywhere so we’re done!  You hear me, Alex?  You’re dead to me; we’re done._  

The cigarette slips out of his fingers, tumbles over the railing and mars the metal with a brush of ash.  He swears under his breath, looks over to see that it’s landed on the sidewalk and lights another.  He’s worked so hard to keep that afternoon out of his head but it’s not done too much good.  He’s had nightmares about it, felt it creeping around the edges of his mind while he walks the trails, slightly hidden but never fully banished.  So long as they’ve known him Kevin’s never talked like that to anyone, but there’s a first time for everything.  He can’t do a damn thing now but wait it out.  Either he reached a level of pissed that bears resemblance to Nick’s blind rage only a longer time scale or he… 

Or. 

AJ breathes in too sharp, coughs and muffles it against the back of his hand.  Just a month ago, he told Kevin he wants to get tattoos there, some sort of corresponding set.  Kevin smiled, traced the fine bones in the top of his hand with long fingers and murmured that if he did, he wanted to go with him.  He’d heard hands hurt, but he could distract him.  He could make it easier.  

He lost his father once because he didn’t love hard enough, his grandmother because she couldn’t stay.  It’s strange to face the prospect of loss because he’s loved too much rather than not enough.  Out of all this mess he’s not sure what hurts the most, but that’s a contender, no doubt.  The lingering question of whether the proper verb tense should be _was_ loved too much rather than _is_ is too much to contemplate.  He feels miserable enough already.  

He’s humming, low and a little strained, though he’s not sure when he started.  It makes him smile, reminds him of the time his grandmother told him that cats purr sometimes not because they’re happy but because they need to be soothed and the sound is comforting, like a child whistling walking home after dark.  Music is balm, the oldest medicine he knows.  

The tune is familiar, unplanned but perfect and he can’t resist singing a few bars, though he cuts off soon to go back to his cigarette.  It’s hard to say which he needs more.  

“I didn’t expect to hear Rent here.”  AJ blinks, turns to see a girl on a bench to his left.  When he came out here everything was empty, but he hasn’t exactly been paying attention.  She shrugs quick as soon as his eyes fall on her.  “I just…Goodbye Love, right?  It’s just, not everyone knows—Though I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you would but—“  She’s talking too fast, like she feels guilty for speaking up at all.  

AJ sits up a little straighter.  “It’s a great show; deserves a hell of a lot more attention than it gets.”  

Her smile is relieved.  “Yeah.  Yeah, it does.”  She gestures towards the balcony, and his eyes catch first on her cigarette, second on the track marks lining the inside of her arm.  “I didn’t want to bother you, but if you want some company…” 

“Yeah, no, please, come on over here.”  He’ll be alone with his own thoughts the rest of the goddamn night; he hadn’t intended to seek it out but a little distraction might be exactly what he needs.  

She sits down with her back to the railing, leans against it with her elbows hooked over the edges.  “I just figured, anyone who looks that miserable _after_ we get visitation doesn’t need to be sitting up here alone.  Usually, the hard day’s tomorrow when everyone realizes they’ve got another week to go before they see anyone outside of here again.”  

“You sound like you’ve got this down.” 

“I should; it’s my third time.  90 days this go around.”  A hard thing to admit he’s sure, but she’s smiling even if it does look a little pained.  “I’m Cori.” 

“Pleasure to meet you, Cori.  I’m—“ 

“An absolute mystery, though after that performance I feel like I should call you Mimi.”  

God, it’s nice to actually laugh; he’s been so short on it lately the feeling’s almost alien.  With the exception of Dr. Coleman everyone around this place has been so careful with him, so distant.  It’s not that he’s not grateful for the privacy, fuck, is he _ever_ , but he’s a social creature even at the worst of times.  Lately, the most social interaction he’s gotten has been with group members who he can tell tread gently.  This is easier.  

\-------

**[from the notebook, fifth page]**

_Hey D_

_So this isn’t a song.  I don’t know; it’s not like I’ve never written without you guys before.  I have and I will but right now, the only music that’s coming to me isn’t new so I’m not gonna push.  It’s not quite a letter either and I don’t know if you’ll ever get it, but I think I’ll feel better if I write it down.  Hell, maybe.  Let’s see, huh?_

_We had this group session this afternoon, all of us talking about memories we’ve got now because of our addictions that we wish we didn’t.  God knows I’ve got more than enough of those, but the whole thing got me thinking too about the other side of the coin, all the memories I should have with you guys that I don’t.  I gave up all this shit I can’t get back for something that wasn’t worth it, and I’ll be living with that for the rest of my life._

_I think I’ve known that a long time, I just haven’t wanted to face it.  Easier to keep drowning it, right?  While I’m doing that, I miss something else, fuck something else up and I tell myself I’ll turn it all around, I’ll make up it up to you the next but the next day I feel like shit so hey, perfect excuse to put it out of my head because I tell myself I stop thinking about it I’ll do better; I’ll be better._

_There’s nothing better about me when I’m fucked up, but you’ve known that this whole time, haven’t you?_

_I’m thinking about Mexico, that day off when I promised you we’d go be tourists together and I slept all day, showed up looking for you sometime right before sundown.  I was freaked, more scared you’d be pissed than I wanted to admit but you just kept pulling away from me, hardly saying a word until I snapped and you said, “I’m not pissed, but there’s no point talking to you about it.  I just want my best friend back.  I don’t know who this guy is.”_

_I deserved that.  I can’t say it didn’t hurt like all hell, but I deserved it, cause I mean that’s the whole point you were trying to make that I didn’t get.  I was so scared you’d be angry, I wasn’t even letting myself think about the worst part.  I hurt you, I know that, and it’d be bad enough if that was the only time but I know it isn’t.  Fuck, I know it happened more than I even remember, and that kills me.  Shit, it’s paralyzing because how do I fix that?  I knew what I was doing, on some level I can’t deny that.  I put a bottle of Jack over you and that’s a blunt truth I can’t take back._

_Fuck, I miss you so much.  I want to go see those pyramids with you, touch stone that’s thousands of years old and press our palms so hard against I can still feel the grit of it when we stop.  I want to walk in the jungle with you and laugh at how fucking hopeless we both are because if the bugs out there are half as big as Nick swears they are, we’d be screwed if we found one.  I want to do all that shit you wanted, feed the wild parrots out of my hand even if they break my fingers.  I just want to make you smile; baby, I just want to make you happy.  I want you to know how happy I am when I’m with you.  I want to have that chance all over again, spend the day with you and take you back to the hotel a little early cause I spent too many hours not kissing you and believe me, that’s hard to do._

_I could’ve done all that, could’ve pulled you back into that room, pushed you up against the door and sucked you off and it’d probably still be earlier then when I came to your door, trying to convince you to come drink with me like I hadn’t let you down._

_I’ve fucking wasted so much time._

_God, Howie, I miss you.  Just saw you yesterday and it wasn’t enough.  I know that’s selfish; at least, it feels selfish.  I just want you guys back.  I want to go home, but I know I’m figuring shit out here and that’s good, that’s what I have to do, it just sucks having to do it away from you._

_I love you so much.  I’ll call you tomorrow, sweetheart._


	4. Chapter 4

Nick tried to tell him once that there are rules for knowing when you’re dreaming.  He read an article about it, recited bits of it to AJ while hanging his head backwards out of his bunk and eating a sucker.  You check your hands to see if you have the same amount of fingers, pick up a book and read a page then look up before you try again.  If you’re dreaming, the second time the words will blur and shift, or so they claimed.  At the bottom of the list, they suggested that you should try and levitate; if you can, you’re obviously dreaming.

 

Nick laughed hysterically over that one, leaned further out of his bunk and said that maybe he should test it by trying to hover down to the floor.  Kevin grabbed the collar of his shirt and hauled more of him back into his bunk just to be safe. 

 

AJ’s never been sure how true any of those rules are; he’s not lucid in enough of his dreams to form a fair assessment.  Here and there though he’ll hit on moments he realizes he’s dreaming, everything him either too weird or maybe too familiar to be anything else. 

 

This video shoot, it’s too familiar; he knows he’s done it before.  They almost never get the chance to properly choose their own wardrobe for video shoots, but jewelry is usually left up to them.  Brian, he wears his cross and AJ’s got about a million rings and bracelets and shit he cycles around, but for this shoot there’s only really one detail he cares about.  Fuck, it’s all so real, the familiar press of leather against his neck, the way it looks when he glances up into a mirror that reflects an image that’s just a little off. 

 

His tattoos aren’t right; they’re ill-defined at the edges, out of focus and semi out of place.  The drama mask is too big.  Maybe that’s his key, his way to be sure what’s happening around him can’t be real.  He should tell Nick, if he remembers when he wakes up.  Behind all the laughter and the fake levitation, he knows why Nick was reading that article.  He has more nightmares than any of them; he always has. 

 

AJ presses his fingers to the choker at his neck, shifts it until it’s settled just right, the little fine chain hanging down from the middle.  Everything blurs and then he’s not standing in makeup anymore, he’s outside a brick building and there are people setting up cameras and Kevin’s pulling him around the corner, tracing the line of leather around his neck with a stroke of his thumb so soft and careful it burns. 

 

“Are you alright?  I know we’ve got a long day today but I think—“

 

It’s so fucking strange, the way he’s trapped in this weird limbo between present and past, part of him watching the replay with his ribs cracking open, the rest draping his arms around Kevin’s neck and speaking the same words he did when it really happened.  “Don’t worry about it; I’m okay.  I wore it for you.”

 

The look on Kevin’s face is one he remembers but everything changes—they’re kissing now and he knows this didn’t happen, he _knows_ because he wanted it to but they couldn’t, not on a shoot in front of all those people.  It’s intensely bizarre, like living through a partially rewritten blurry reenactment. 

He murmurs his next lines between kisses, a little breathless.  “I know today’s gonna be hard for you; I thought it might help a little.”  He did, and he was right, and at the time that was an important thing to talk about.  Right _now_ , though, he’s dreaming, and the part of him that knows it is so fucking starved for the taste of Kevin’s mouth he can’t help but wish he’d shut up and just keep kissing him.  Hell it’s a dream, Kevin could fuck him right here up against the bricks behind them for all he cares. 

 

Almost as soon as he thinks it, Kevin pulls back and AJ lets him, like the dream and memory are trying their best to realign.  “I wish he could have known all of you.  I’d like to think…” 

 

He doesn’t finish; he doesn’t have to.  AJ’s seen up close for years how Kevin’s hero worshipped the man all his life, long after he’s gone.  He knows how he remembers his dad, knows the kind of man he was sure he was—what he doesn’t know is if that could’ve stretched far enough to accept four men in his son’s life. 

 

AJ rakes his fingers through Kevin’s hair, quick to keep any wandering eyes thinking he’s just mussing it to make it look better, wilder in front of the cameras.  “Don’t doubt your memories, Kev.  You’ve been lookin’ up to him your whole life, and I know your intuition, man, it’s good.  It always is.  Whatever you think the answer is, I mean whatever you _really_ think it is without worrying over it, I think you’re right.” 

 

The love in Kevin’s eyes is overwhelming, so much so that it’s a second or two before he notices that the color’s drained out of everything else.  He’s left with fucking Pleasantville all around them and Kevin’s eyes, so green against the backdrop of black and white he’s even more dazzled than he was the first time this happened. 

 

“He would have loved you.  I know it.”  It’s such high praise, AJ didn’t know what to say.  He still doesn’t, but that’s alright because he knows he doesn’t have long to wait before Kevin sweeps him into a hug.  This one feels just a little stronger, a little more lasting, but those aren’t details he’d ever complain about.  “I love you, Alex.”  He whispers that part, his fingers catching on the back of AJ’s choker just enough to pull on it a little, a flash of pressure against his throat to remind them both of what it really is, what it means. 

 

AJ breathes out a little shaky, makes himself laugh to cover the soft sound of pleasure that slips out.  “Shit, I know.  I know.  I love you too.” 

 

The dream shifts again, a strange tilting sensation accompanying the change like the memory’s a friggin Etch a Sketch in his head, shaken up and wiped clean and redrawn.  Kevin’s in a chair pretending to watch footage they’ll patch in later of him playing football with his dad and he’s trying his best not to cry, he’s fighting it so damn hard and AJ almost goes to him no less than fifteen times.  He remembers. 

 

Brian _does_ go to him once, wraps himself around his shoulders from behind with no explanation, lays his head on Kevin’s chest a minute before he walks away.  Brian’s allowed to do that; he was Brian’s uncle too.  The rest of them, they can only hover over him so much before it might seem weird and that’s irritating, it’s fucking grating.  He wonders if he’s got enough control over this dream now to turn around and go to Kevin like he wanted to, take a seat in his lap and drape himself around Kevin because it’s not just him that’s stabilized when Kevin holds him; it never has been. 

 

He turns to do it, and it’s all gone, the room and Kevin and everything.  He’s still in the shoot, still in black and white but he’s in the hospital where Brian started, looking in through a picture window at Brian’s body in a hospital bed.  His heart’s in his throat before he reminds himself it’s not real, it’s not _remotely_ real because not only is he dreaming he was there when they filmed this.  He watched Brian lay down and pretend, watched him get right back up. 

 

It’s _not_ real, but when he looks to the side the room’s got no door.  There’s just the window and the bed and Brian, his hospital gown open in a way it wasn’t for the shoot.  His scar looks like it did right after he came out of surgery, all red and angry and freshly stitched but he’s not breathing and there’s no one in there with him—just an empty room and glaring lights and too little color but for that damn scar that’s bloodier than it should be. 

 

It’s not real, but he’s panicking anyway.  His heart’s pounding and he can hardly fucking breathe and he calls out to Brian, slams his fist so hard against the glass he’s sure it’ll break.  It doesn’t; it doesn’t even bend.  It’s like hitting fucking concrete but he does it again, once more before his hand hurts too much to put the kind of pressure behind it he wants.  It’s hard to think, harder to move but he finally manages it, fights to remember that the dream is twisting his memories, tying them up together and fucking them up and making something new. 

 

Still, if anything of the video holds, if he turns around and goes out the hospital doors, the boys’ll be waiting for him in the street.  He sprints, hits the door as hard as he can because as he’s running he realizes he can’t hear a goddamn thing, like all the sound’s leeched out right alongside the color. 

 

The bus is there, but there’s no one on it, no one anywhere.  The street’s empty.  Everything’s dead silent, a terrifying hush that holds even when he opens his mouth to scream for one of them, any of them, all of them.  No one’s there and no one hears; he can’t even hear himself.  He reaches up to claw for the leather at his neck, a last ditch search for a constant but it’s gone too.  His fingers twitch restlessly against his neck, frantic, but there’s only bare skin.  Maybe that’s all there ever was, maybe he dreamed the rest.  The thought shakes him, makes him drop to his knees.

 

He screams, soundless, and wakes up with the sheets tangled around his waist, bunched up in his fists.  He’s breathing so hard his chest’s heaving, and he knows without a glance at his clock that it’s definitely not morning.  It doesn’t matter so much though; he’s equally certain he won’t be sleeping anytime soon. 

 

It’s a minute before he can even sit up, and even then he does it careful.  He’s still breathing hard and besides that, he’s got a roommate asleep just feet away from him.  _He_ may be having a hell of a night, but Paul doesn’t have to.  He sighs, pulls his knees up to rest his arms against and twists his fingers together to keep himself from reaching for his neck.  It won’t do him any good to feel that his collar’s not there; he knows damn well it isn’t.  It hasn’t been there for months. 

 

Around the remnants of the dream, two memories jostle for space in his head—the moment Kevin gave him that collar, and the moment he realized Kevin had taken it away.  He recalls them in snatches, bursts of image and sensation and conversation. 

 

Kevin’s a little nervous, rambling on, the black leather choker being toyed with between his fingers.  He’s telling AJ how he doesn’t have to take it but if he wants to they can use it as a sign, something he wears to show Kevin when he needs him like _this_ in case he hasn’t picked up on it just yet.  Safe in public, and multi-use because he’s seen how much that the _other_ collar they use sometimes, the slightly more official one, is comforting for both of them. 

 

AJ’s eager, but he doesn’t reach out and touch it yet, just grins and remarks that essentially, he’s being given a come-hold-me-down-and-fuck-me-Kevin bat signal. 

 

Kevin’s laughter is beautiful, almost as beautiful as the sense memory of the way he puts the collar on for the first time while they’re making love, the way he kisses half on the leather and half on AJ’s skin at the side of his neck, breathes a _thank you_ right up against him that AJ’s barely focused enough to question him on.  His hands tighten on AJ’s hips, and he thrusts in just a little deeper and groans before he pants out the answer, just behind AJ’s ear. 

 

 _For letting me take care of you._  

 

There’s that, and there’s its inverse, the too-damn-clear morning a few months past.  There’s a touch of grim satisfaction that comes from looking at it in hindsight, because waking up he remembers feeling sick, full of dread and wishing he could turn over and go back to sleep, skip the morning and whatever comes with it.  He’s ten minutes in before he realizes the level of shit day he can feel it creeping up to already, so he tells himself to have a drink and find his collar. 

 

He finds a little bit of Jack in a bottle under his bed.  The collar’s nowhere, and he spends two days thinking he’s lost it before he’s so fucking anxious and sick and sad he tells Kevin he can’t find it. 

 

It’s a toss-up which part of the rest of the day is worse, though it’s probably the way Kevin can’t quite look at him when he says that no, it’s safe, he’s got it.  He’s got it, and he won’t give it back until he can trust AJ’s judgment with it.  Other contenders include the nearly three hours he spends crying in his car after he drives out that night, Brian’s careful lack of commentary when he gets back that tells AJ exactly where he stands, and the realization that for the life of him, he can’t remember what happened while the collar was on that made Kevin doubt him. 

 

Months later, he _still_ can’t remember.  The difference is, now he’s not sure he wants to. 

 

He _is_ sure that he’d do a hell of a lot to feel the pressure of leather against his neck right now, equally sure he doesn’t deserve it.  Kevin’s always seen that part of their lives as an honor, something almost sacred and AJ, he didn’t just jeopardize that once, he did more damage to it than he can count.  Even if his imagination stretches far enough to let him think Kevin’ll forgive him when he comes home, the kind of protection from himself Kevin was willing to give him before is probably something he’ll never get back. 

 

Never is a horribly finite word. 

 

He has a powerful need for all of it, Kevin’s hand at his throat and the searing heat of wax on sensitive skin and the pull in his muscles when Kevin pins his wrists over his head.  There’s so much he wants, but he aches for the simplest pieces, the comforting weight of Kevin’s body against his, sure and just the right amount of possessive and so full of love the intensity from it carries into everything he does, every touch of his hand, every whisper of _you’re almost there; you can take a little more._   Kevin always knows just how far to push him, just how much it takes from every starting point to get him as deep as he needs to go.  Since Europe he’s been able to feel Kevin’s love like a second skin, wrapped around him everywhere he goes.  He’s still got everyone else and that’s wonderful, that’s great but he without Kevin he still feels cold. 

 

The first time he told Nick about what was going on between him and Kevin years ago he’d told him that this extra thing they had, it was just a part of their bond that was a little different.  Not better, not more, just different.  That’s true, but looking at it now he thinks the full truth is more complicated, because whether it’s singing or dancing or living or loving, they’re not at their best unless they are five.  _They_ are five, but right now AJ’s only got himself and three and one standing back just out of his reach;  the instability’s driving him nuts.  He’s getting better, yeah, but the more he opens his eyes the further into this mess he sees.  The gulf between him and Kevin looks wider all the time.  Shit, it’s no wonder he’s having nightmares. 

 

AJ closes his eyes, tilts his head back against the wall and breathes.  It’s standing policy that if there’s an emergency, any patient can go to the desk and ask for their doctor and they’ll get them on the phone, but this isn’t quite an emergency.  He’s a mess and it all feels too sharp, too real, but he can manage it.  He’ll have to get better at calming himself down anyway if Kevin’s help isn’t going to be an option anymore. 

 

True, but maybe not the most helpful thing to realize when he’s already hurting enough. 

 

He swears, bites his lip and manages to sit almost still for a whole ten seconds before he reaches for the notebook, changes his mind midair and grabs Brian’s Bible out from under it instead.  There’s a booklight he’s been keeping just beside the wall and he finds it by feel, almost knocks over his water bottle while he’s doing it.  He tucks his knees up a little higher to prop the book, scrunches down low enough that he can lay the light on his chest and turn it on titled toward the pages.  This way, he can flip aimlessly.

 

It’s nice, comforting right from the moment he cracks the spine.  Maybe it’s his imagination, but he’d swear the thing even smells like Brian.  He doesn’t read much of the text itself; he’s not opposed but right now, it’s not what he needs.  It’s Brian’s words he wants, scribbled here and there in different colors, at different angles.  There’s even one or two he recognizes, the first a corner note in red pen in Psalms.  They’d been waiting on a delayed flight, curled up in a corner charging their phones.  He’d been falling asleep with his head on Brian’s shoulder. 

 

He meanders back and forth through the pages an hour, two, almost three before there’s sunlight starting to slant through the blinds to cast bars against his fingers.  He falls asleep with the book on his chest, wakes up 45 minutes later to his alarm.  If he dreamed in that little stretch, he doesn’t remember it.  Maybe there’s something to that, though he’s not sure whether it’s exhaustion or the memory of Brian that let him rest in peace.  Either way, even as he’s cursing and slamming his hand down on the clock, he knows he’s calling Brian tonight. 

 

\-------

It’s a lot harder to slip exhaustion past people without makeup to give you a hand.  At least, he suspects it’s the dark circles under his eyes giving him away, but Dr. Coleman’s obviously a student of behavior and she’s been watching his a couple weeks now.  Maybe it’s in his hands, in his speech, in something he can’t even think to look for. 

 

Whatever it is, she’s called him out.  He’s been making a lot of progress, but she feels there’s something troubling him, something he’s not confronting.  His head’s full of shit he hasn’t wanted to confront for over a year now; he’s tempted to tell her his issues have started to take a number and stand in line.      

 

AJ shrugs.  “No, I just, I’m not sleeping well.  It’s these dreams, these—they’re more nightmares I guess.  I don’t know; I don’t remember all of them.”  Not all, but still too much.  The night before last he’d dreamed he was stuck on an empty bus, every door he tried to take leading back to the same halls, the same bunks with no one in them.  Howie called to him from one he could’ve sworn, but every time he pulled back the curtain there was nothing there but a blank mattress, not even any sheets.  Howie uses flannel, except for in the heat of summer.  He never wants to be cold.  In the dream, AJ curled up on the empty bed and shivered. 

 

But hey, he’s telling the truth.  He doesn’t remember _everything_. 

 

She must have some inkling of all he’s leaving out, though, because she’s staying quiet to let him figure out just how much he’s going to give up.  He bites his lip and tries again.  “I’ll be somewhere familiar, the guys should be there and maybe they even are at first but I turn around and they’re gone, like it was all just a projection or something.  Last night was the worst, all this shit with Kevin, Brian dead in a hospital room after his surgery…I know it’s all just me freaking out about what comes after I get out of here but I can’t tell myself that when I’m tryin’ to sleep.” 

 

Who’s he kidding; he can’t much tell it to himself when he’s awake either.  He really _is_ making progress, but at the same time it seems like the more he thinks back on all he’s done the more miraculous it seems they haven’t all cashed out on him.   Worse, to wonder if maybe they should have.  He’s been one hell of a headache. 

 

“I think you’re right, and that fear of loss is completely natural.  You’re coming to a place where you can fully realize the enormity of everything that’s happened to you; that’s good, but it’s also overwhelming.  As you rebuild your relationships, those fears will ease up.  Every step takes time.”  Dr. Coleman shifts back in her chair, settling in.  “You’ve mentioned more than once lately the two times you overdosed and the impact those events had not only on you but on your relationships.  Are you ready to talk about that?”

 

Maybe, but he’s not overflowing with enthusiasm for it.  He’d like to say that’s not connected to the nightmares at all but who is he to say it isn’t?  If she’s drawn the connection it’s probably there and hell, it makes more sense than he’d like to admit.  Death and hospitals and disappearance and cold empty rooms…it’s not an outright line, but it all connects. 

 

AJ looks down, rubs the pad of his finger over the nail polish on his thumb.  Tampa Bay Buccaneers red, thanks to Nick.   It’s been comforting; that’s probably why he’s been chipping it off at a slightly reduced rate. 

 

“Brian was really freaked.”  An understatement, though Brian’s not here to contradict him.  He swallows, drops his voice even softer.  “I remember…I remember more of it than I’d think I should?  I was a mess; you know it seems like the kinda thing that’d black out.  God knows I’ve lost enough memories but those two…maybe it’s the fear; I don’t know.  I remember hearing them fight over whether to take me to the hospital.  I’d told ‘em not to before but they probably should have.  He was so pissed but he doesn’t stay angry long; he never does and he stayed right there with me, he—“

 

The memory’s strong, cuts through everything and shuts him up.  He was still too out of it to move, disconnected from his limbs in a way that was utterly fucking terrifying but there was Brian, curled around him, forehead pressed to AJ’s shoulder, one hand on his ribs to feel him breathe.  Kevin and Howie were still going at it across the room; he could hear that, but under it were the softer sounds of Brian crying.  Quiet, almost imperceptible, so muddied that AJ wondered if he was hallucinating because Brian shouldn’t be crying, not over him.  More yelling would have been better. 

 

AJ’s breath is sharp, painful.  “I’d bet money he thought I didn’t even know he was there but he wouldn’t leave me.  That’s just Brian, you know?  He cares too much; it’s not good for him.” 

 

“Caring’s not good for him?  Or are you afraid _you’re_ not good for him?” 

 

The other night, Nick asked him how his therapy was going.  Next time he asks, he’ll tell him it’s about as much fun as being kicked in the balls.   

 

\-------

 

More often than not, on the phone Brian sounds younger than he is.  Right now, he just sounds tired.  Well, tired and fighting it; AJ knows him well enough to hear him trying to compensate.  He called to talk to him about things he’d rather talk about it person, or you know, never.  If right now isn’t the best time, that makes ‘never’ look even more appealing. 

 

“You sound like you need to sleep, Bri.” 

 

“Nah, I’m alright.  It’s nothing.” 

 

It’s not, and he doesn’t like being treated like he can’t tell the difference.  Just because he’s dealing with his own shit right now doesn’t mean he can’t handle knowing the truth about _theirs_.  That’d be true regardless, though more than likely whatever shit’s going down has something to do with him.  A pinch of guilt goes pretty well with worry and mild irritation.  He could speak up and say any or all of that, probably should say _some_ of it, but he lets his silence do it for him.  Brian’s a terrible liar; he folds like wet cardboard the second he knows someone’s onto him. 

 

Brian sighs.  “Sorry.”  AJ smiles, pictures a box melting in the rain.  Wet cardboard.  Works every damn time.  “Nick’s driving me crazy.” 

 

“And here I’d started to think you were immune.” 

 

Even Brian’s laugh sounds tired, but at least it’s a little more Brian-like.  “He’s either at Kevin’s throat or he’s all over him; there’s no in between.  He’s just so torn over how to feel about Kevin right now and you know, he’s Nick.  He’s not only supportive, he’s touchy so when Kevin fails to make a move with you Nick flips out on him, gives him shit until someone breaks it up, and that someone has to be me or Howie because Kevin just lets him chew on him; I mean he’ll snap back here and there but nothing strong enough to shut Nick up.”

 

Fuck, AJ knows that look; he’s seen Kevin give it.  Too tired and too sore to fight back, too willing to listen because some part of him thinks whatever he’s hearing is exactly what he deserves.  God _dammit_. 

 

“So Nick spends some time brooding, during which he’s also pissed at me and Howie for not picking Kevin to death along with him; it varies how long that takes but when he’s done he decides he feels like crap and that Kevin’s miserable, which he is, so he crashes and goes and finds Kevin.  They cry together instead of separately, they have sex, everything’s on neutral ground for a few hours until something punches Nick’s replay button.  Pretty sure we’ve been through this whole cycle at least three times.  And I’m probably miscounting.” 

 

“ ‘m sorry.”  His voice is smaller than he means for it to be, still honest but a little overwhelmed.  There’s so much shit he has to apologize for; all of this is just extra. 

 

“Hey, don’t be; this isn’t your fault, okay?  This is all Nick.”

 

“Yeah, but it’s _about_ me.”

 

“You getting better is about you.  That’s all you need to worry about right now; we can handle the rest.”  Something rustles, and AJ tries to picture Brian.  Maybe he’s on the bed, tossing that little Nerf basketball he and Nick have taken to about fifteen countries.  Brian’s always in motion.  “You sound good, by the way.  At least you did, before I brought Nick up.” 

 

“No, don’t…I don’t want you to—“

 

“Yeah.  I know.”  He _does_ ; AJ can hear it.  Somehow, that eases the tension in his stomach, warms him and smoothes out his nerves.  It’s just Brian; even when he’s upset he’s still comforting. 

 

“I can try to talk to Nick again; hell this is probably partially my fault, not just cause—“  Kevin’s name still comes out of his mouth like sandpaper dragged through his throat.  It’s easier to cough and start over.  “First time I called Nick I asked him to patch things up with Kevin if he could.  Maybe it was too soon; I don’t know.” 

 

“I think he’s really tryin’, and that’s not a bad thing; it’s just hard.  He’s still angry and you know, to be honest, I don’t blame him.  I’m not too happy with Kevin right now myself, but I’ve got more perspective on it than Nick does.  I can understand where he’s coming from, too.  Nick can’t, so all he sees is what he thinks is a disproportionate reaction.”

 

“Except it isn’t.”

 

“I didn’t say that.”

 

“You didn’t have to; I did.” 

 

“AJ...”  Brian’s coaxing, a little guilty.  Fuck, this’d be so much easier in person. 

 

“Look, I mean I’ve got to face it, right?  I brought this on myself; all the shit I put him through, I mean what did I think?  That it wouldn’t have consequences?”  The more he has time to think about it, the more that very concept has started to amaze.  All the time he’s spent running from the damage he was causing, how in the hell did he really think it was all gonna end?  Sure, there was part of him that thought he’d die and never have to face it, but that’s not exactly what he wants to tell Brian.  Well, not fully and not like this at any rate. 

 

“I don’t…I don’t think you were thinking about it much at all.  I think that was sort of the point.”  Blunt, but true.  “Have you even tried to call him?”

 

“What, since the ten fucking times I called him after he walked away in Boston?  No, I haven’t.”  Each one of those hurt enough; he remembers them with nauseating clarity. 

 

“I think you should.  I’m not saying he’ll answer, but I think he needs to hear your voice.  Nick thinks he doesn’t deserve it if he won’t pick up the phone; maybe he’s got a point.  I still think it can’t hurt.”

 

Yeah, it can, and it will, but he knows what Brian means. 

 

“He’s gonna come around, you know that, right?  He loves you so much it scares him; that’s all this is, Bone.  He’s tired and he’s scared, but he won’t give you up.  He wouldn’t even if it killed him; I’d bet anything on it.”

 

He’d like to hope Brian’s right, but he also really, really doesn’t want to talk about Kevin any more right now.  If he’s going to say what he called to say he probably won’t get a better opening, and if they keep talking about Kevin he’ll just end up sobbing into the phone and Brian’ll comfort him and that’s…he can’t say it wouldn’t be nice to be comforted, but that’s more weight on Brian and that’s kind of the opposite of what he was going for, here. 

 

“I had this—“  His throat’s thick, voice wavering a little until he clears it.  “This nightmare last night, about the video shoot for Show Me.”

 

“Yeah?”  God, he loves Brian.  He takes the change in subject without skipping a beat, manages to put enough encouragement into just one word that AJ can feel it.  It helps. 

 

“It was mostly like it happened, you know, shit with me and Kevin and then watching him film but it got weird after that, it was like I was back on the hospital set but it wasn’t…I mean it was more like it was back in ’98 and you were…”  Yeah, no, that’s as far into that as he can go.  “And I was a mess when I woke up, I just wanted to be with you, I wanted you where I could see you and keep an eye on you and I kept thinking, that’s the worst nightmare I’ve ever lived through, that time you were in the hospital.  The thought of losing you, I couldn’t take it.  I still can’t.  And I knew that, I’ve known it for years and then I turn around and put you through the same shit.  I just…I never thought of it like that, but it’s true.” 

 

Brian’s quiet, so quiet AJ swears he can hear his own fucking heart beating for a second but then there’s a breath, a little stilted, a little off.  He doesn’t want to picture Brian crying, so he looks out the window instead.  It doesn’t do shit to stop the mental image, but hey, at least he made the attempt. 

 

AJ licks his lips, starts again.  “I just didn’t see it; you’re right that most of the time I wasn’t thinkin’ at all but when I did I just, I mean I didn’t see it like that.  It’s me, you know, I mean you, you’re the heart, everybody needs you but if—“

 

“You think we’d just recover?  That’s bullshit.”  He’s not angry, exactly, but it’s firm, and it’s nothing he doesn’t deserve.  Still, AJ flinches. 

 

“I don’t think it anymore.  Fuck, I don’t know, Brian, maybe I never…I think I was just scared it was true, you know?  I mean, that doesn’t excuse it.”  Not at all, but it’s how he feels.  Or at least, how he felt.  Sometimes it all swirls together; it’s hard to be sure. 

 

There’s silence while Brian thinks, twenty seven seconds of it.  AJ counts.  “I’ve never been that scared in my life.  Not before the surgery, not…I just kept thinking, this happens to other people.  It’s something you read about in the paper, not something that happens to someone you love.” 

 

“Brian, I’m sorry.”  He is, God is he ever.  He can feel it, a sharp stabbing pain. 

 

“I know.” 

 

“I can’t…I want to promise you that’ll never happen again, but I—“

 

“Just tell me you’ll try, honestly try, permanently.  That’s all I want to hear.” 

 

“I will, swear to God.”  Not that he has a whole lot of faith he won’t fuck it up, but he’s not gonna go into it expecting failure either.  Well, not widespread failure, anyway.  Everyone relapses once at least or so he’s been told, but the way he feels right now, he wants to fight against sliding back as hard as he can.  Maybe that’ll hold him steady for the rest of his life; who the hell can say? 

 

“Alright I lied, that’s not all I want to hear.”  It’s a little lighter, still serious enough to make AJ swallow hard. 

 

“Okay.” 

 

“I wouldn’t just recover, AJ.  None of us would, Nick especially I think, but I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t.  Tell me you understand that.” 

 

“I do.”  On one hand, more than he’d like to.  On the other, it’s still hard to comprehend.  He’s a mess, a detriment in so many ways, and still they want him.  That’s…he’s not sure what that is, other than overwhelming.  Beautiful, incredible, painful as fuck.  “Hey, I ah…I wanted to tell you, I remember you staying with me.  That second time, it’s kinda hazy in pieces but I remember more than I’d have thought and Kevin and Howie were fighting but you wouldn’t leave me.  Not for a second.  That…thank you, for that.  I know I didn’t say it after all that mess was over but I was pretty fucking scared myself and—“

 

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

 

“No, I know, I know I just…it made a difference, for me.  You always do.” 

 

“I was praying for you.”

 

“Yeah, I thought you might have been.”  Brian always prayed for him, for all of them, really, but lately he’d taken up a disproportionate percentage of that time.  He’d told Brian once while he was hungover that it was a good thing Brian prayed for him more than he prayed for himself because of the two of them, God might actually listen to Brian.  He hadn’t been too happy with that statement so AJ has no plans to repeat it, but he hasn’t stopped believing it.  Brian doesn’t need to know that, though.  “Don’t stop yet, okay?” 

 

“Oh don’t worry, I won’t.  You’re a permanent fixture; He expects it.”  He laughs, little and faint but it gets a touch stronger when AJ joins him.  It’s easy to forget sometimes, but AJ’s not the only one who doesn’t do well alone. 


End file.
